“Perhaps he hopes that the Fawn will come after us,” I observed to Rawlings.
“That’s not likely,” was the answer. “It would not do to risk the loss of the schooner on the chance of helping us; and, to my mind, there’s little help any vessel can give us.”
Had, indeed, the schooner been following, we might not have seen her; for, so thick was the spray which drove over us, that we could scarcely see many yards beyond the junk, all the time the wind howling and shrieking, and the water hissing and foaming around us. We could do nothing to help ourselves; indeed, it took all our strength just to hold on to the side. Every now and then a huge sea would come rolling up, and seem about to break on board, but the buoyant junk rose to the top of it, and then again down we plunged into the deep trough below.
Mr Hanson and two of the men stood at the helm, trying to steer the lumbering craft, and not without difficulty could they prevent her from broaching-to. Dicky Plumb had done his best to keep his legs, but, finding that impossible, at length sat down on the deck, holding on, and endeavouring to look as unconcerned and cool as possible. As we looked out we could see fragments of wreck floating by, showing us what would, too probably, be our fate. We passed one large junk almost under water, to which several people were clinging; they held out their hands to us, asking for assistance, but we could give them none, and soon we drove by, when they were hid from our sight by the driving spray. On we went.
“Breakers ahead!” shouted Ned Rawlings, who had been looking out.
There appeared, right before us, a line of coast—to weather it, seemed impossible; and yet, if we could not do so, our destruction was inevitable. At length we made out a point of land on the port bow—we were driving towards it—Mr Hanson put the helm as much as he could to starboard.
“If we can get to the other side of that,” he observed to Mr Plumb, “we may escape with our lives; if not, there’s not a chance for us.”
“It cannot be helped,” answered Mr Dicky, quite composedly. “We have done our best, and can do no more.”
Closer and closer we drew to the wild rocks at the end of the point; the surf was breaking furiously over them. I know I held my breath, and I cannot exactly say how I felt; only I kept wishing something was over. There were the rocks, and there was the fearful surf roaring over them. In another instant we were in the midst of the surf; I expected to hear a crash, and to find the vessel going to pieces. The water came rushing over our decks; the masses of spray blinded us. On we flew, and in another moment the point was passed; and though the sea broke heavily on the shore, still there was a possibility of our landing on it. We had no anchors remaining, so we could not bring up, even could any anchor have held; shipwreck was certain. The only doubt was where we should strike—that was settled in another minute—lifted high on a roller we were hurled towards the shore; then suddenly down we came with a tremendous crash; the masts instantly fell; the upper works were washed away; with difficulty could we hold on to the wreck.
“Now, Jack, let’s see what you can do,” exclaimed Ned Rawlings. “There’s not a better swimmer on board!”